


All the tears you never know about

by WickedCinnamonRoll



Series: Diego being a worrysome brother [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Character Study, Diego is a Good Brother, Drug Abuse, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, No Incest, Pre-Canon, References to Drugs, Vigilantism, worrying bout ur bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedCinnamonRoll/pseuds/WickedCinnamonRoll
Summary: Diego wishes he didn't live a life always worried the next dead junkie he hears about has his brother's name and face





	All the tears you never know about

  It didn’t come as a shock to Diego when he glanced at the car clock and read out the softly glowing red numbers. 

  2:41

  It was one of the only light sources Diego had at his exposure. That responsibility was being shared with a few nearby lamp posts that flickered along the dark and mostly empty roads and the irritating car light that beamed down at him. He had constantly been changing his mind whether or not he wanted it on or not. After he checked the time, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before turning off the light for the last time. It continued to stay off for the rest of his night.

  For most people, it’d be lights out for them by now. But of course, there are no member of the Hargreeves family that could be comparable to most people. Most people weren’t born with powers. Most people weren’t raised from childhood to become vigilantes. And most people didn’t continue that vigilante path well into their adulthood, which would require them to stay up at ungodly hours, listening in on police radios and jumping at the next chance to kick ass. And in this case at least, Diego was happy he wasn’t like most people. 

  He enjoyed the thrill he got out of it, along with the sense of purpose and justice he’d feel every time he’d knock out a home intruder or burglar or potential killer. Part of it, of course, was a want and need not to let all the training he was put through go to waste, but like he’d ever admit that. Well, he  _ did _ once but that was added to a long, ever growing list of regrets he had. But that want he had took a backseat to the main reason why he did this: to help people. He didn’t even get paid to do it. His only revenue came from mopping up sweat covered floors at the gym and partaking in a fair amount of fights himself. This vigilante work could be considered purely a passion project. There certainly was a lot of passion involved in it. After he was kicked out of the police force, it didn’t slow him down at all. If anything, it motivated him even more. Crime very often is able to slip right through the seemingly tight grip the police held. He saw it as his job to keep a close eye on any slippery criminals that would wiggle their way out of the police’s grasp. 

  He had to admit though, only about 20% of his time on the job was spent actually taking down criminals. As for the remaining 80%, well... 

  A rather loud and disgusting burp erupted from him and he quickly cleared his throat. He looked down at the half eaten breakfast burrito still in its wrapper and groaned, tossing it into the passenger seat. Raw eggs he could stand, but the food they served at the only places open 24/7? Just barely. It was the only stuff he could find to keep his stomach from eating itself. He certainly didn’t eat it for the taste, that’s for sure. 

_ Should’ve grabbed some donuts too… _

  He shook his head as his own thought. Donuts are all carbs...all sugar...not what he needed right before possibly stopping a home invasion or chasing after a trigger happy drug dealer. Then again, was a 5 buck breakfast burrito any better? Probably not, but too little too late on that. His hand danced over the lid of his to-go cup of coffee before eventually picking it up and taking a hefty sip from it. He sighed, tossing the now empty cup into the backseat. Hopefully that would be enough. 

  As it turned out, this was mainly the life of a vigilante: just waiting for crimes to even occur. It’s all he could really do. The police radio really made things easier for him but it still proved to be a mostly boring and tedious way to spend his time. He still did it nonetheless, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish there was more action involved. There’s only so many hours you can spend kooked up in your car, drinking cup after cup of coffee, mindlessly tuning into whatever station was available before you go insane. Fortunately, Diego hadn’t reached that pointed. Not yet, at least. Knowing himself, he’d probably never reach that point. Though it was boring when nothing happened, it was always worth it in the end when there’s finally some action. 

  His fingers lazily drummed against the wheel as he looked outside. Dead as ever. Even any distant driving noises he once heard went mute a while ago. Not even an annoying dog yapping was there to fill the void of silence. He considered turning on the regular car radio at a low volume just to have something.

  That was until the police radio crackled to life.

  Diego was already sitting straight up at the noises alone, before any words even came from it. He leaned in close and turned up the volume.

  “-Found where possible suspect could be hiding out, over.” spoke the muffled voice of a male officer.

  “What’s your 10-20? Over.”

  “45 East Beacon Avenue. Suspect was seen running through the front door trying to escape from police, over.”

  The address immediately piqued Diego’s interest. It wasn’t the first time he’s heard it or even been to it. The building could be described bluntly as a crack house, place for junkies near and far to meet up to buy, sell and generally get fucked up. Everyone, druggies and police, knew about the place. He’s busted his fair share of drug deals there before but hey, another bust there wouldn’t kill him.    

  The officer sighed. “I’m going in. May need back-up, over.”

  Diego smirked as he started up his car.

  “Oh don’t you worry.” he muttered to himself. “Back-up is coming.”

  He didn’t even need to know the full situation but from the sounds of the continued back and forth the two officers had, the suspect robbed some dinky nearby gas station with a gun and was merely looking for a place to hide out. Wasn’t Diego’s typical work but he took what he could get. He was already on his way so no way he was going to turn away from this now.

  He continued to closely listen in on the conversation.

  “What’s your status? Over.”

  “No sign of the suspect yet. Stand by, over.” However, it wasn’t long after that update that he spoke again. “Jesus. Looks worse than last time.”

  “Stay on your guard.” Offered the second voice in a serious tone before he paused. “And watch your step. Don’t want you stepping and sticking yourself with a needle.” 

  Diego rolled his eyes as the two officers chuckled. He couldn’t act too high and mighty though. The station  _ did _ kick him out, afterall. Where’s the fun in staying 100% serious all the time? Good to see though that the station wasn’t completely filled with stick in the muds.

  And that officer really wasn’t lying: the place was a hellhole and a half. Didn’t need to be part of the police to see it. The building always looked on the cusp of crumbling and falling in on itself and that was just looking at the exterior of it. Though no one but a junkie would even think otherwise, shoes were always the way to go when walking around there. Of course, this wouldn’t stop some poor coked up bastard from waltzing around barefoot, the concept of fear and reason not being known to him. If he could, he would be so bold as to write every single one of them as pathetic. As abusers to their own body who deserved zero of his sympathy. However, a single junkie kept him from giving the whole population of them the cold shoulder.

  Of course, this junkie had the excuse of being haunted by both literal and figurative ghosts of the past and that’s why he did what he did. Didn’t make Diego anymore happier as there is always a better way. 

_ Stop...focus...eyes on the road and ears open. _

__ No other cars for him to even run into, but he had to place his attention on something, anything. Thank god for the radio.

  “What’s your status? Over.” The officer asked, almost sounding bored.

  “Still no suspect, ov-“ The officer at the house paused. 

  “10-9 you got cut off there, over.”

  “No, no sorry. I didn’t it’s just-“ Another pause. “Body not belonging to suspect was found. Looks to be deceased, but will take a closer look, over.”

  “Stay on guard, over.”

  Bodies were far from a rare sight to find at this house. Most of the time, local junkies weren’t careful enough and made an error with their dosage that would cost them their lives and in the sad instances, the bodies were simply left there when trying to dispose of murder victims. It wasn’t a really good hiding place but then again, what junkie was going to report a dead body two feet from where they were just shooting up heroine?

  He grew closer and closer to the address so he decided to park a few blocks away, ready to jump out at any given second. In the meantime, he continued to stay tuned into the radio, knife now in hand, taking his time to polish away any smudge he could see. 

  One of the voices returned. 

  “Time body was found: 3:06 AM. Male, looking to be in late 20s to early 30s. Cause of death: possible drug overdose. Over.”

  He could feel himself stop polishing. His hands shook for some reason so he slowly placed his knife down and gulped harshly, trying to keep a straight face. Easier said than done.

_ Please… _

__ “Any sign of an ID? Over.”

  “Not that I can see, over.”

  “In the meantime, could you possibly describe him? Over.”

_ No...fuck...please… _

__ “Can do.” The short lived silence that followed could be chalked up to the officer taking a closer look at the body. “Uh, fair skin, skinny frame, curly black hair-“ another pause. “Green eyes. Over.”

  Another gulp swam down his throat and his nostrils flared up. His vision seemed to grow hazy and a million words found themselves clogged in his mind and throat yet nothing came out. Even the words of the officers became distant as Diego tried to process what he heard. 

  Thoughts screamed and ricocheted around his head, demanding to be heard and acknowledged but he was lost in the moment. He wasn’t in his head nor his own surroundings. He wasn’t sure where exactly he was, but it scared him. It scared him more than words could even begin to explain. His heart threatened to burst right then and there yet it still hammered violently against his chest and it showed no sign of stopping. The inside of his mouth grew dry and although he knew it wasn’t possible, a part of him felt like he couldn’t breathe.

_ No no no no no...this can’t...it can’t be happening… _

  Those were just a few of the words he could manage to make out through the wave of incoherent thoughts slamming and crashing against his head. But it wasn’t long until some of those thoughts grew impatient with being ignored. 

_   Fuck up. Absolute fuck up. _

_   Talk big game about wanting to help him but what now? _

_   You could’ve helped. _

_   You could’ve done anything. _

  He couldn’t even manage a stutter, much less a way to block his own voice practically screaming at him. But just as quickly as it began, all the thoughts silenced themselves, leaving behind one single muttering tone.

_ When was the last time you talked to him? What did you say? _

  Diego’s eyes grew wide with realization.

_ “This is the last time I bust my ass just to save yours, Klaus. Hope you weren’t thinking this would become a regular thing.” _

__ A tiny and rather pathetic noise crawled up his throat and past his lips. He tried to swallow it down and though the act was somewhat successful, the radio crackled back to life with some new information.

  “I found the ID and looks to be real, over.”

  This only made his shaking worse.

  “Well, spit it out. What’s the name? Over.”

  “Kl-”

  The radio fizzled out short and that was it.

  Diego couldn’t hold it in anymore.

  A sob bubbled out from him and he lurched over, trying to hide his quickly forming and falling tears from invisible eyes. It felt so foreign to him. He couldn’t tell you the last time he had cried like this. As far back as he could remember, he always had to hold it in. To stay strong at all times. He had gotten good at it too but it felt sickening at times. He felt less human. He never hesitated to show off his anger, his bitterness, towards the world and people around him. But in those cases, he was told it was justified. Made him seem more strong. Made him an opponent worth being fearful over.

  But crying?

  No one cried around Sir Reginald Hargreeves without reason and got off scot free.

  He half expected a swift, hard backhand across his face for his tears. But instead, he got nothing, which almost felt worse. Who was he kidding? Of course it felt worse.

  The sobs really did seem like those that were held back for years upon years before eventually breaking through and spilling out. They were choked up, shaky and wet. And boy did he feel gross. But he couldn’t focus on that. He clenched his teeth and his shoulders tensed up as if he were a kid again, trying to hide any sense of weakness from his father. He didn’t need to do it, but it was so burned into his brain he could help himself. 

  How could he not cry? Even if his father was around to beat him, it wouldn’t be enough to silence Diego. 

  Every memory. Every conversation. Every mischievous glance they’d give each other as kids. It all came rushing back to him. Too fast. Too much. He couldn’t breathe.

_ I’m so sorry Klaus...I’m so- _

  “Sorry but you cut out there. Could you repeat the name again? Over.”

  More than anything did he want to smash that radio into tiny pieces but he couldn’t.

  “Sure thing. The name is Klay Avery, over.”

  He froze. The shaking almost halted and his sobs slowly disintegrated into loud sniffs. The conversation between the cops became fuzzy to his ears again. His eyes burned just from those relatively short but nonetheless painful moments of sobbing like his life depended on it. And just as quickly as it began, it all came to a sudden stop with just a few words and a name of someone he didn’t know. It felt as if reality returned and everything was in its rightful place, yet…

  No...things were far from right.

  The sadness remained but something else was there now. 

  Anger and lots of it.

  He knocked the radio over, which was resting on the dashboard, onto the floor. He couldn’t be bothered to worry if he had broken it or not. After that, loud huffs of breath steamed from him and he didn’t even think. He began punching the wheel violently, like how he would often treat criminals he’d go up against. It hurt like hell but he didn’t care. An enraged but still sadden filled cry erupted from him before he eventually pulled his fists away. His head dropped into his hands and he breathed heavily.

  Not nearly as many thoughts clouded his head at this point and he was glad for that at least but Christ…

_   It wasn’t him… _

_   It wasn’t him but it could’ve been. _

  The anger spiked again as the fingers tangled in his hair pulled slightly.

  He felt awful thinking it, but moments like this made him detest his brother. He thought back to all the times he had yelled at him or wished he had yelled at him for having to save him from a tight spot. Klaus always blamed the drugs, which he blamed on the spirits. Diego couldn’t hate him for real but he couldn’t help but feel this abundance of bitterness when it came to him and what he did to cope. He hated the fact that finding out his brother died from a drug overdose was a very real fear and not just something overprotective parents or siblings waste time worrying about for no real reason. 

  He thought it was real.

  He thought he’d never see him again.

  And he thought his last words to him would be about promising to never help him again.

  With one especially long exhale, his face left his hands and for what felt like forever, he stared out the window in front of him. He was submerged back into that sickly silence, the radio going dead and no other noises around to cut through it.

_   What now? _

  He was hardly in any shape now to chase down baddies and be the vigilante he knew he was.

  An emotionless huff resembling a laugh slipped past his lips.

_   Even when you aren’t here, Klaus, you’re always finding new ways to make my life harder, huh? _

  He sniffed and looked down, shaking his head ever so slightly. It hurt to blink yet he shut his eyes and sighed. Never knew crying could suck the energy right out of you like this. Maybe that’s why Klaus always seemed so tired as a young child. It was no secret to the siblings what he went through...what their father put him through.

  His eyes fluttered open, just for a moment to allow one final thought to fully make its mark before he passed out for the night.

_   ...Klaus should still be in rehab last time I checked...never does any good but...maybe it’d do him some good to see a familiar face. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ending it like that? For a possible part two? It's more likely than you think


End file.
